


Cursebreaker

by glacis



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An answer to Telanu's first line challenge: "We need to have sex RIGHT NOW."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cursebreaker

Cursebreaker by seeker. Rated NC17.

"We need to have sex right now."

Snape dropped the potion over which he’d spent the last six hours working and gaped at Harry Potter. Those words were ones he’d never expected to come from the ripe red lips of Hogwarts’ youngest-ever DADA instructor, a seasoned veteran of the War Against Evil at the ridiculous age of twenty. Wrenching his eyes from the mess now eating through the marble top of his work surface, he considered and discarded four truly sarcastic comebacks before opening his mouth to deliver the truly scathing fifth choice.

The words never had a chance. Before they could trip like rolling razors off his tongue, Potter slammed him against the wall (thankfully far from the acidic spill now eating through the stones on the floor and seeping down to poison the earth below the castle) and devoured his mouth.

If he hadn’t been so startled he couldn’t move, Snape would no doubt have boxed the lad’s ears for him. As it was, when he tried to move his arms, Potter caught his wrists and held them against the wall next to his ears. So he tried to move his legs, to bring up a knee in the classic Muggle female defense. Except for some reason his legs betrayed him, and instead of his knee coming up, his thighs spread. Seeing an invitation in the breach of defenses, Potter moved in for the kill.

Well, the little death, at least.

With the quick movements and hardened leg muscles of a man who’d spent the last decade as the Star Seeker of the Wizarding World, Potter shifted both Snape’s hands into one unbreakable grip, dropped the other hand to rip his robes open – buttons scattering everywhere – and, bending his knees, knocked Snape off balance by the simple act of shoving his groin so far between Snape’s spread thighs that Snape’s feet left the ground.

Not quite sure how it happened, Snape found himself wrapping his right leg around Potter’s waist and undulating an erection he’d previously been unaware of sporting against Potter’s prick, which was in the process of dueling with his own as it tried to drill a hole in his stomach. The change in position, and the fact that he’d gone pants-less since the House Elves were currently boycotting the dungeon and he was completely out of clean underwear, led to the logical if mind boggling condition of having Potter’s prick forced bluntly up Snape’s arse.

By that point, someone somewhere was babbling like an idiot and moaning like a bitch in heat. Annoyed at the wanton soundtrack echoing off the walls, Snape forced his eyes open (unaware he’d closed them) and looked around for the source, only to realize, looking down at Potter who was biting his lip and pumping manfully away, that he was the only other person in the dungeon and therefore the ridiculous noises had to be coming from himself.

So much for dignity.

Not that realization was any aid in stopping, as Potter unclamped his lip from his teeth long enough to bark, "Yes!" as the hand that had so efficiently ripped Snape’s clothing apart dropped like a leech on Snape’s prick and began to pull it. The banging in one end and the yanking at the other sent the vocal disturbance to new heights, as he came quite before he was ready, the spasms in his arse causing Potter to growl rather like Fluffy before the harp kicked in.

Apparently it wasn’t enough, for whatever bizarre purposes Potter was using him. With a grunt, Potter pulled out, eliciting a yelp from Snape that rose two octaves in a single breath. Ignoring his protest completely, Potter slung Snape around until he faced the wall and plowed right back in. Snape barely had time to whip his finally-freed hands up to keep himself from ramming nose-first into the dungeon wall.

Then he was bouncing again, as Potter pumped away, and Snape was half-hard, not an inconsiderable accomplishment at his age. The friction had gone past pain to burning fire in his arse when Potter finally arched, screamed, "Fuck, yes!" then followed that up with a stream of Latin that was so fast and so garbled even if Snape’s head hadn’t been swimming from being ridden through the stone wall he wouldn’t have understood more than half of it. Heat burst through Snape’s gut as Potter came like a freight train, still pumping, still moving against Snape’s back, until Snape could feel fluid dripping from his arse clear down to his ankles.

He kept his face protected, his bouncing prick a decent inch from impacting the rough stones, and waited for Potter to calm down. It took a long time. Eventually, by the time Snape was three quarters of the way through a mental inventory of all the animal parts in his stock room, Potter kissed his shoulder and pulled out. It was the first tender touch he’d bestowed since bursting into Snape’s quarters. Snape ventured a glance over his shoulder.

Potter looked, well, shagged out. Judging by the quantity of fluid coating Snape’s thighs and dribbling down his legs, it was no wonder. Potter bashfully met his eye and gave him an uncertain smile.

Snape glowered at him.

Gathering the rags of his robes about him, he turned and regarded Potter much as he would a particularly unsavory insect fouling a delicate potion. "What, precisely, led to THAT fit of insanity? Not that there’s any excuse for such behavior," he sniffed, shifting his sore arse and silently enjoying it much more than he should.

Potter shrugged apologetically. "Was teaching the seventh-years about dueling, and one of them came up with a doozy that ricocheted." His smile widened. "The only other faculty at hand were Flitwick and Hooch, and I figured Hooch would chew m’prick off if I wagged it anywhere near her."

He didn’t have to explain why he hadn’t jumped Flitwick. The mental image alone was enough to boggle the mind. Snape bit back inappropriate laughter and intensified his glare. Potter’s cheeks turned red.

"So, er, awfully sorry about the … anyway, I mean, uhm … are you … ?"

Snape allowed his teeth to show in a snarl that could pass for a smile. In bad light. "Is this your charming attempt at apologizing for attacking me? Hmph. As for your solicitous query as to my health? Unacceptable."

Potter looked miserable. Snape’s snarl bloomed. Potter muttered, "sorry," under his breath and turned to go. Snape let him get all the way to the door before he called sharply, "Potter!"

Bright green eyes under an untidy fringe peered at Snape over a hunched shoulder.

"I will refrain from bringing our little tryst to Dumbledore’s attention, incidentally getting you sacked for incompetence," knowing he would do no such thing because it would have no such result, "on one condition."

The eyes widened. Trepidation appeared. Snape sighed happily, if quite vindictively, two emotions that had always co-existed comfortably within him.

"My bed, tonight, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late." He glanced down at the buttons scattered all over the floor. "Bring a needle and thread."

The trepidation was replaced with anticipation. "Detention, Professor Snape?" Potter asked with entirely too much anticipation.

"You should expect no less, Professor Potter," Snape answered in the same vein. The look that passed between them needed no further explication. As the door slammed shut behind his impetuous young lover, Snape glanced over at the ruint potion, work table and floor, and snorted. "You’ve used some ridiculous excuses in the past, Harry, but a curse-breaker? Why can’t you simply call it a quickie and be done with it?"

Although, all things being even, Potter needed no excuse at all. The words alone would have been enough.

END


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